I guess if you're that thin and that small you don't need to take up too much space or breathe that much air. You just keep on going.

I met Lee Harvey Oswald, in Moscow just after he defected. One night I was having dinner with a friend, an Italian newspaper cor­respondent, and when he came by to pick me up he asked me if I'd mind going with him first to talk to a young American defector, one Lee Harvey Oswald. Oswald was staying at the Metropole, an old Czarist hotel just off Kremlin Square.

And in this moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came.

A man who doesn't dream is like a man who doesn't sweat. He stores up a lot of poison.

Lively, too. Talky as a jaybird. With something smart to say on every subject: better than the radio.

I don't mean I'd mind being rich and famous. That's very much on my schedule and someday I'll try to get around to it.

I love New York, even though it isn't mine, the way something has to be, a tree or a street or a house, something, anyway, that belongs to me because I belong to it.